Chuck vs My Imagination
by Micktrex
Summary: A general action/drama/comedy/romance fic based on Chuck and subverted mildly by my overactive imagination. Could grow into a number of chapters depending on how well received it is. Have a look...go on, dare ya...


**Chuck VS The**** Accent**

**Author's Note: To my old readers: You'll remember me as DranzillBaley or IndigoBaley or whatever moniker I was using back then! But i'm dipping my metaphorical toes into a new alias, a new fandom and a new passion to write. To Chuck fans: If you like this you can thank Farringtongirl for encouraging me to have a crack at it. She's a great writer and I love the fics of hers i've read so far. Okay, gushing over. Enjoy.**

Swaggering up to the group of smartly dressed, merciless men with just the right amount of improvised confidence, backed by sheer nerve-wracking terror, Chuck beamed and stretched out both arms. His gesture of welcome was seemingly ignored as the five burly gentlemen surveyed him with visible dislike.

"And who, may I ask, are you?" Inquired the least patient looking of the five. Chuck assumed this meant he was the one in charge. Sadly, no flash. Not one speck of information to help him through the mind-numbingly stupid - or genius - performance he was about to play out.

"Why gudday, mate! I'd be Alexander! Alex fa short of course. Balieve you've a package for me, ma kind Arabian gent!" Chuck had spent the better half of ten minutes practicing that accent in the drive over, hearing it echo obnoxiously around the empty car park now, he felt himself die a little inside.

The men exchanged looks for a moment. The leader turned back to Chuck and slowly said,

"What?"

"It's me, mate!" Chuck prompted, thumbs pointed back at himself, "Alex!"

"You are Alexander Baumschlager?"

"Right you are, mate." Chuck grinned broadly; glad the twitch in his left eye wasn't visible through his sunglasses. The bald Saudi crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.

"Tell me something Mr Baumschlager."

"Open book, mate!" Chuck made a silent promise to never say 'mate' again until the day he died. This hopefully wouldn't be today, in the next ten seconds.

"Explain to me why an Austrian drug dealer who specialises in human trafficking would be afflicted with such a sunny disposition as you are before me." The man paused to study the cleanliness of his fingernails on one hand before continuing, "Oh, and of course...why he would be speaking in an Australian accent?"

Chuck was quite certain he had just crapped his heart out.

"...V-v-vell you see..." His enquirer leant forward to listen intently, a naked look of anger shimmering beneath his growing frown. "...za thing iz...how exactly do Austrian's sound?! I mean I'm assuming it's very similar to a German accent because of the whole alliance during the world wars thing but I've tried a German accent before and it did not end well I can tell you that for sure-!"

"Somebody kindly kill this imbecile!" The Arab snapped as his patience came to its extent. Guns were drawn and pointed squarely at Chuck before he could even crumble in fear. The rain of gunshots echoed violently around him and as he fell to the floor in the fetal position, he wondered why he hadn't felt a single bullet make itself comfortable in his skull. Peeking up through his arms he saw the Saudi Arabian's grimacing, holding either their wrists or kneecaps, weapons discarded on the concrete as Chuck rose steadily to his feet.

"Afternoon, Bartowski." Came the grunt inches from his right ear. Chuck jumped, clutching his heart as he turned to give Casey a bitter smile. The tank of a man passed by his asset, gun aimed at the fallen men as he ordered them to put their hands behind their heads. The intersect brushed himself down and scowled at the agent's broad back.

"Why did you tell me the drug dealer was Australian?" he asked, squaring up to Casey then backing off slightly as the Neanderthal turned to glare at him.

A rare half-grin split his face.

"Cus it was funny watching you impersonate Steve Irwin's mentally challenged younger brother." He growled with real humour in his tone. Chuck was unsure whether to be angry that his life had been endangered, more so than usual, or amazed that Casey knew how to make a funny. "Don't worry," he added at Chuck's look of infuriation, "You'll be able to watch that memorable performance when we rewind the cam feed back at operations." His grin grew as he pointed out the small surveillance camera nestled in a nearby corner. "Won't miss a thing."

"If you weren't so huge and intimidating and trained to kill all living things I'd have totally punched you in the face by now." Chuck said sulkily, his hands deep in the pockets of his tan suit jacket.

"He's only messing with you, Chuck." He turned to see Sarah appear from behind a column of concrete reloading her semi-automatic. His heart skipped a beat and suddenly, Casey's prank didn't seem so bad. "In truth, you turning up as an obnoxious Aussie distracted the targets so well that we got into position without even having to be that careful."

"So...you planned this?"

"Give or take a detail or two..." she drifted off and seemed to find it difficult to look him in the eye, "But you're okay! So, no worries." She smiled broadly, albeit with a large smothering of guilt evident as she stroked his forearm in reassurance.

She turned to join Casey. Wrinkling her nose in confusion she noted, "Where's Altair?"

Chuck had been so caught up tracing the place Sarah's delicate fingers had brushed over his arm that he hadn't noticed her eyes widen in horror. A firm grip on his shoulder, followed by a kick to the back of his shin woke him rudely from his daydreaming as he was forced to his knees. The icy shiver sent down his spine by the metal point digging into the side of his throat was also quite sufficient at holding his attention.

"This is how we proceed." The deadly tone of the bald Arabian and the reflected look in Sarah and Casey's eyes told Chuck he was in serious trouble."You two will give me the credit I was entitled to for this whole arrangement. You will walk away and never return. Or," God, did Chuck hate ultimatums. "I play a game called, 'How long will it take for my knife to come out the other side of this idiot's neck."

"I...I don't like games." Chuck squeaked hopefully.

"Shut up. Your choice." He finished, the knife's point pressing in a little harder as Chuck hissed in pain.

The agent's guns lagged down to their sides.

But then in a moment that seemed to play out very slowly in front of him, Chuck watched Sarah close her eyes. The glaze over them when they reopened betrayed the lack of emotion on her face as she pulled her arm taut, firing once. The bullet hit the knife, sending it backwards into the terrorist's face.

With the gunshot ringing in his ears, Chuck got shakily to his feet and turned to look back on his assailant.

"Hooooly...right in the...mm...boy...that's not pretty." He fought the urge to throw up. Casey shifted pass him and made a call for the swat to come evacuate the terrorists to a detention centre. Looking back at the blonde bombshell behind him, Chuck saw her resolve had slipped back into place and the glazed expression was gone.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"The same place I learnt how to do all my knife-related tricks." Sarah replied in her usual sweet tone, making it all the more unnerving considering the conversation's topic.

"And that would be...?"

"Telling." Sarah smiled, with that persistent amount of mystery that both irritated and enthralled Chuck.

"Of course..." he muttered under his breath, as she sauntered over to check the status of the other four targets. From the horrified glances transfixed onto their former head of operations Chuck concluded they wouldn't be anymore trouble. "Yup. Just another day in the life of Chuck Bartowski." He murmured with hollow enthusiasm.

**-C-**

The figure hiding approximately twenty feet from Chuck, stared with growing curiosity. She toyed with the idea of killing the lovelorn blonde and the NSA thug, stepping hungrily from the shadows for a second. Then, with some self restraint, pulled back to watch the trio converse. Not yet. Not till he was alone. Vulnerable in his little world of so many faces, places, weapons and spies. So much knowledge and such little care for it. That one thought sent a crooked smile across her lips. The things she knew made the Intersect insignificant in every single comparable way.

**-C-**

Chuck turned to the sound of an eerie rustling some distance to his left. An empty, shadow-stained corner was all that greeted him.

The chaotic melody of police sirens approached and he was forced to turn away, expression torn with uncertainty. He was sure, if only for a moment, that he'd heard the beat of wings.

**Author's Note: It seems I'm doomed to make every fanfic of mine a little bit spooky. Maybe it's my "thing"? ****Hope you liked. Feedback as always is greatly appreciated.**

**-Mike**


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